


Good to be Scottish

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ben Wa Balls, F/F, In Public, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:21:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely she knows better than to bet against the Scottish National Quidditch team. Perhaps, she wanted to lose...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good to be Scottish

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2015's Kinky Kristmas Comment Fest at the Daily Deviant. The delightful Kelly Chambliss' prompt: Ben Wa Balls and Holiday in the Great Hall.

There were trees glittering in every corner of the Great Room. Candles burned above the staff table, moved to the center of the room to host the small gathering. The windows outside showed the flurry that had begun the night before and had completely snowed in the castle throughout the day. Above the candles, the roof sprinkled its own glittered flakes, turned gold in the light of the room and melting before they got to the table filled with all the delights of the holiday. Minerva raised her wine goblet to her lips and drank luxuriously. She’d hardly ever enjoyed a meal more.

Watching Rolanda across the table squirm discreetly in her seat sent tingles of pleasure along Minerva’s spine. To know the thrill Rolanda was experiencing with every shift in her chair as the meal continued and the desserts were served, the pain that accompanied trying to behave as if you weren’t about to climax right there in the Great Hall made Minerva bite her lip with the power of it. Occasionally she cast her reposed and practiced cold glance to the other woman to see the desperation and pleading in hers. Minerva forced herself not to blush.

Yes, she knew all too well the feeling of enduring a tedious obligation among colleagues and students while magic and delightful torture exploded under her robes, under her skirts, her stockings and knickers, tucked securely into her cunt by muscle contraction and will alone. She knew all too well what Rolanda was feeling, how full she felt, how every slide sent the slick, silver balls caressing her walls, rubbing against her clit.

Just thinking about it, as Dumbledore gleefully handed out and popped his own crackers made Minerva squirm in her own seat. She watched Rolanda clutch her napkin tightly in her fist as she forced herself to be in the moment, politely refuse a cracker, convincingly show delight at others’ discoveries. All the time pleasure filled every fiber of her, needing so badly to be released. Minerva felt it as if she too was experiencing it. 

When Rolanda grasped at her goblet and greedily drank the wine from it, Minerva knew that she was close to bursting. The need for climax, the need to stop the sensations almost painful as she sucked down the drink, as if hoping to drown in its sweetness. And when she had drained the contents, instead of putting the glass down, she used it to mask her desperate pants. 

Minerva was almost as dizzy with her own need as Rolanda was by the time everyone started trickling out of the Great Hall. She knew Rolanda would not be able to move off her seat, would not be able to release the muscles holding the balls in place without a much delayed orgasm. So they sat, and they waited and they cursed under their breaths for Dumbledore to stop his nattering and Sybil to just pocket the half empty bottles of mead, wine and sherry and totter off already.

The moment the room had cleared, Minerva was on her feet, waving her wand, locking the doors, dimming the candles. She slid in between Rolanda and the table, sitting at the edge of the table, her legs raised, her feet planted on Rolanda’s seat.

“I trust you’ve learned your lesson?” Minerva asked, trying to sound cool and detached while fearing her own need was as easy to detect as the aroma of Rolanda’s.

Rolanda nodded her head vigorously, biting her lip painfully.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, Mistress, I have.”

“And what was the lesson?”

Rolanda was panting, and her entire face was flushed, but she got out with very little stammer. “Never bet against The Scottish National Quidditch team.” 

“Correct. You _are_ learning,” she said with professorial enthusiasm. “You have fulfilled your debt for losing, now, are you ready to award me my prize for winning?”

“Gods yes!” Rolanda spat out, reaching out for Minerva and sliding her off the table and onto her lap. The movement this required caused Rolanda to grasp at Minerva’s robes in tight fists, as she bit down hard on Minerva’s collar and shook and shivered through her orgasm. 

When she was able to breath again, she released her mouth from Minerva’s shoulder and whispered apologies and endearments up her neck and at her mouth as she licked Minerva’s lips and kissed her, pulling her tightly to her.

As Rolanda devoured her mouth, chin, ears and throat, Minerva snaked her hands down between Rolanda’s legs and slowly, delicately pulled at the string attached to the globes tucked inside Rolanda. She moaned at each millimeter’s slide.

Holding them up to gaze lovingly at the instruments of torturous pleasure, Minerva gently kissed them, as if for a job well done. Rolanda watched with amazed wonder, lust shining in her eyes. And as Minerva reached behind her to deposit the balls on the table, Rolanda stood, holding Minerva and depositing her to the table as well.

“Would you like your prize here, or in your rooms?”

Minerva reached for her, wrapping her legs around Rolanda’s torso. “The wards are in place, the staff have all retired, well sauced, the children are surely in the grasp of a food-induced coma and quite frankly, I’m not sure I can wait.”

While she talked, Rolanda had begun removing the many layers Minerva was wrapped in, and when she was finished, she climbed on top of her, right there in the staff table, situated in the middle of the Great Hall for the meager student body and staff who remained through the holidays, and began to worship her way down Minerva’s body. 

As Minerva’s skin tingled in Rolanda’s attentions, as her middle vibrated in anticipation, Minerva began to hum _Scotland the Brave_ , the traditional song to celebrate a victory.

Minerva smiled smugly. _Yes, sometimes it was good to be Scottish._


End file.
